The first shall be first?

    Our electricity was out for eight nights last December. Although we didn't have a generator, we were prepared to rough it. I had a propane barbecue with a side burner and an extra tank of gas. We had candles, flashlights, and batteries, and a kerosene heater to keep us warm. But on the seventh day, with Christmas drawing ever closer, I called Puget Power, and burst into tears. The lovely lady on the other end took all my information, and let me know she would find out why our block didn't have power while all of those around us were glowing with warmth and light. The excitement of roughing it had faded after the first two days, but I still didn't understand when I heard angry people call in to radio programs to demand that something should be done, as if there was a magic switch that would lift broken poles and re-string lines. I kept telling myself that someone had to be last, and this time it was us.

    This week I flew back to Maui to do some more writing. At the gate, they had already summoned first class passengers, as well as the very old, the very young, and anyone who needed assistance.

    A forty-something woman approached the gate agent. She was neither blond nor brunette, but sported multi-hued hair that some women have when they're trying to come to terms with grey. There was a slight air of subdued panic in her demeanor, and when she reached for her boarding pass, she knocked over a sign with the bag that was slung over her shoulder.

    "Oops. Sorry, sorry, sorry," she said, trying to pick up the heavy sign and the trash can that was hit by the falling sign. "Did you call for first class already?" she asked apologetically. She didn't have the coolness of someone who often flew first class, and would be familiar with the perks. She disappeared down the jetway, and I didn't notice her again until we arrived at Kahului when we obediently lined up at the designated baggage carousel. I looked around at the faces of the people from the five hour flight above the Pacific. How strange to throw in your lot with a group of people who are hurtled into the sky, flying above the horizon at 38,000 feet, and never learn one of their names.

    My little reverie was broken when the carousel began to move. All attention turned to the place were the bags were about to tumble off the belt. Standing there with her big carryon was the lady from first class. Her eyes widened when the first bag to drop was her own. She announced to everyone, "My bag! I've never had that happen before! I've never been first. I can't believe it. My bag!"

    I thought about her for a while, how she was utterly surprised to be first. By her reactions, I wondered if she was someone who was not used to having good things happen to her. Although I was in Maui, I thought about how we were the last ones in our neighborhood to get our power restored last winter. As much as I dislike being last for anything, it builds character and keeps me from all manner of smugness and complacency. Being last can be hard to accept, especially when you're cold and smelly, but it's a fact of life. And it's also true that someone has to be first, and when it happens, it can be delightfully surprising.